


with your patient face and wandering eye // don't hold this war inside

by elsinorerose



Series: out here in the dark [8]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Discussion of PTSD, Discussion of Torture, F/M, Fluff, Romance, discussion of suicide, discussion of trauma, gratuitous and likely incorrect use of magic, once again christine perverts the rules of d&d, please do not hate me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:24:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsinorerose/pseuds/elsinorerose
Summary: "By the time Jester has risen, dressed, and washed her face with water from the basin on her bedside table, the sky has brightened into true dawn, and the chill of night has lessened by a degree or two, though winter is still nipping at the air as she steps outside. She wraps her cloak a little tighter around herself against the breeze and pretends that's why she took her time getting ready — she was just waiting for it to warm up a little. She's not nervous, or terrified."Caleb casts a spell, and Jester makes a promise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I recommend catching up on the previous fics in this series before you read this, or else you will be...confused. Thanks to my glorious beta-readers for all their help. Title from "Come Back When You Can" by Barcelona.

The crack of limbs — tree branches, or are they real limbs? Are her legs giving out at last? No, it's just wood — it's crackling in a fire, and her friends are there, sitting all around it in a circle, and none of them see her — she cries out, but her voice makes no sound, and their faces turn into shadows, and the shadows  _ grow,  _ and now she's alone in the woods, and night has come. The forest is awake, but birds and beasts alike flee at her approach. They can smell death when she walks near — not the kind of death that promises a meal, either, not even to buzzards or flies — the kind of death that promises nothing but more death. The forest  _ knows,  _ with its tall black trees, straight as iron bars. She runs into one of them as hard as she can, just to see if she can dash herself apart, and she can: she splits into a million pieces, only the next second she's whole again, put back together all wrong, and there is a voice calling to her to run, to get out of there, but she can't move — there isn't enough space, she can't squeeze through, and it's so  _ dark,  _ she thought she could  _ see  _ in the dark but her eyes aren't working. No, wait — no, her eyes are  _ gone.  _ That's a relief. They've been plucked out, so she can't see anything that's happening to her, she can't see anything that's happening to  _ him,  _ she can't see the snow or the dragon or the cell doors or her own hand that's clutching something as she stumbles along — is she holding a stone? No, she's holding a holy symbol — no, wait, of course, she's holding her  _ eyes — _

Jester sits bolt upright, bedsheets clinging to her with cold sweat, a cry stifled in her throat. Her heart feels like it's going to explode. 

It's only after she has sat there for a few moments, gasping, adjusting to the darkness (she has eyes, she has eyes, it was a  _ dream),  _ that it occurs to her to notice her heart is beating at  _ all.  _ For weeks now, every time she has gone to bed, it has been in the form of her stolen lich body, little more than an animated corpse, and a corpse's heart doesn't beat.

There is a touch on the back of her hand, and she realizes that she isn't alone.

"I'm sorry," Caleb whispers in the darkness beside her. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Jester turns, and he's kneeling at the side of her bed, spellbook in hand, his component pouch hanging loosely around his neck. It must be just before dawn, because there is enough light for her to make out the copper of his hair and the blue —  _ oh —  _ of her own skin where his hand covers hers.

He gives it a small squeeze. "Didn't want you to have to wake up like that again, so I just…"

"Snuck in here and cast  _ polymorph  _ while I was sleeping," she finishes for him, grinning with mixed parts relief, adrenaline, and searing affection coursing through her.

Caleb smiles back, faintly. "Are you all right? You were tossing and turning."

"I'm fine." He'll pretend to believe her, and she'll pretend she believes that. "Thank you, Caleb."

Another squeeze of his hand, as he tucks his spellbook back into its holster, and then he stands, and Jester reads anxiety in the lines of his body and the shadows in his face. "Best get ready,  _ liebling,  _ it's almost time."

_ Shit. _

By the time Jester has risen, dressed, and washed her face with water from the basin on her bedside table — out of nothing but habit, since the  _ polymorphed  _ face that Caleb has given her for the next hour is already clean — the sky has brightened into true dawn, and the chill of night has lessened by a degree or two, though winter is still nipping at the air as she steps outside. She wraps her cloak a little tighter around herself against the breeze and pretends that's why she took her time getting ready — she was just waiting for it to warm up a little. She's not nervous, or terrified. 

Beau is leaning against the exterior wall of the Sunkissed Tavern and Inn when she sees Jester. Her face lights up. "Good, you're here. They're all waiting."

"Sorry, I just…"

"Nah, hey, it's fine." Beau eyes her up and down. "You look great, by the way. I think Caleb's been making you prettier on purpose."

Jester can't help but laugh, nerves and everything. When Beau is trying this hard to be cheerful and polite, it's always a bad sign. Still, the knot of worry in her stomach loosens just a little as Beau links arms with her and begins to lead her off down the street. Maybe it's the way she starts babbling awkwardly, clearly trying to distract Jester from thinking too much about what's about to happen; or maybe it's just because lately, every time anyone touches her, proves that they aren't afraid of her body or that their love for her is worth pushing through their fear, she feels a little warmth return to her heart. She has been so cold ever since…

She shakes her head, to stop the thoughts from intruding, but Beau must take it as a response to whatever she's just said, because she frowns. "What, you're  _ not  _ together?"

"What?"

"You and Caleb. Don't give me that shit, man, that's ridiculous, you're obviously crazy about each other."

_ "Oh."  _ She really  _ hasn't  _ been listening, has she. "No, we're — I mean,  _ yes,  _ we're — but we aren't — "

"He's been in love with you for, like,  _ months,  _ Jester."

All right, props to Beau, she's managed to find a topic of conversation that will actually be a good distraction. Jester feels herself flush pink as she leans in to murmur conspiratorially into Beau's ear, "I think it might be a little  _ longer  _ than that, actually."

"Oh my god," says Beau, looking genuinely stunned as Jester pulls away, "did he actually  _ admit  _ something?"

Jester giggles, sways her tail back and forth a few times, allows herself a few moments to feel like a giddy teenager. "We almost  _ died,  _ Beau, we admitted  _ lots  _ of things!"

"I mean it's obvious how you both feel, but you've been so  _ weird  _ around each other since you got back, nobody's really sure if you've actually done anything about it, y'know?"

Beau is grinning, but Jester feels her mood sink again, though she keeps her smile up. The thing is, it's true. Even after their conversation on the voyage across from Wildemount, she and Caleb have been...well,  _ weird  _ might really be the best word.  _ Distant  _ certainly isn't right, because it's not like before, when they were avoiding each other as much as possible except for every two hours when it was Caleb's turn to  _ polymorph  _ Jester. They've been talking, they've been  _ touching,  _ even if it's little more than a supportive hand on the shoulder or the occasional friendly hug.  _ Awkward  _ isn't exactly the right word either, partly because Caleb is always a  _ little  _ awkward around just about everybody, and partly because everybody has been a little awkward around Jester for the past few weeks, too.

No, she can't really pin down exactly what's wrong between them, and it bothers her. She hopes it's just the reality of the fact that they've both confessed their feelings for each other but haven't taken the first step past words into actions — she hopes it's just lovesickness or lust that has Caleb distracted, jumping at shadows, dark-eyed when he thinks no one's looking, silent when he would normally be speaking, stone-still when he would normally be flipping through the pages of a book or ruffling Frumpkin's fur or swatting playfully at Jester's tail after she's poked him with the tip of it on his opposite shoulder.

She hopes, but she doesn't really believe.

She has prayed for him, of course — and the memory surfaces of his soot-stained fingertips brushing against hers as he hands her the silver holy symbol of the Traveler that she lent him so long ago, or so it feels —  _ I kept this for you —  _ his voice rough as he avoids her eyes —  _ I am sorry you didn't have it, you should hold onto it better next time —  _ the silver gleaming, barely scratched, a little tarnished, one edge worn a little sharper than she remembers as she slips the chain through her belt —  _ It was right where I needed it, Caleb,  _ and his breath shakes —

Jester blinks furiously in the sunlight. At her side, Beau has gone silent, her arm tight around Jester's as they walk together, her mouth drawn in a stubborn line.

She has prayed for Caleb, but the Traveler has not been as encouraging as she would like. Twice he's come to see her since she was rescued, and Jester is grateful, so unspeakably grateful; but though his presence has been reassuring, his words themselves have offered little comfort.  _ I cannot help him, dear one. What he needs does not lie in my domain. You will have to be very patient, I think. _

_ I'm not very good at being patient,  _ she'd grumbled, feeling like a five-year-old again.

_ You're good at taking care of people.  _ One hand, swathed in green, stroking her hair.  _ You're good at caring for this human of yours. And as much as I may not like to admit it, he is good at caring for you. _

Beau gives her arm a squeeze. "We're here."

They have reached the outskirts of Westruun, wandered past stalls and farmhouses, and found themselves at the edge of the Bramblewood. A wide swath of grass has been pulled up to make a rough circle of bare dirt three or four yards across. Jester sees the rest of their family there: Fjord and Nott sitting together on a fallen log, Yasha standing stiffly off to the side with Frumpkin rubbing up against her ankles, Caduceus talking to a tree. Caleb is speaking in hushed tones with two figures Jester doesn't recognize: a dark-skinned elf in deep blue robes who reminds her of Beau's mentor Dairon, and an elderly human man, so old he looks like he might collapse any second but for the bright fire in his eyes as he listens to whatever Caleb is saying.

_ Fuck, it's really time.  _ Jester swallows thickly. She wonders if she's going to be sick — then she wonders if being sick could get them to postpone everything. Just for a few hours.

Beau must be able to sense her fear, because she wraps an arm around Jester's shoulders and gives her a one-sided hug. "Let's just get it over with, okay?" she murmurs. "You're in good hands."

At their approach, Fjord and Nott stand up, and Caleb follows their gazes to lock eyes with Jester. He runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat a little uncomfortably. God, he looks pale, thinks Jester as he closes the space between them and takes her by the hand.

"This is Expositor Quenna," says Caleb, gesturing with his free hand to the blue-robed elf. "She is one of Beauregard's order, at the Cobalt Reserve. She has been...invaluable, these past several days."

The Expositor bows at the waist, and Jester returns it, at a loss for words.

"She helped me find, ah...find what I needed." Caleb grips her hand tightly. "We owe her a great deal."

"It is the monks of the Cobalt Soul who owe you all a great deal." The elf's voice is like spun honey as she looks around at the rest of the Mighty Nein. "We are happy to pay any small favor to one of our own, and to those who walk in service with her."

"Thank you," says Jester softly. Her heart pounds.

Now Caleb nods toward the second stranger, whose robes, now that Jester can see them up close, are covered in glittering runes. "Realmseer Eskil Ryndarien. One of the most gifted practioners of the arcane on this side of the Lucidian Ocean."

The Realmseer, white-haired and bespectacled and certainly fitting the part of a master wizard, is halfway through a bow of his own when a scowl crosses his face and he straightens up at once.  _ "One of?"  _

Jester grins — she likes him already. "I mean, right now Caleb is on this side of the ocean, you know, so it's only fair, right?"

"He is doing us a big favor," says Caleb loudly before anyone can respond, "by standing here and making sure that I do not accidentally blow you up when I cast this very powerful spell I have never tried before, so let us be extremely polite, ja?"

"Ja," replies Jester, aiming for something between lightheartedness and flirtation, but she can feel her palms sweating.  _ This very powerful spell I have never tried before.  _ She has been doing her best not to think about it, but now that it's about to happen, she can't think about anything else.

It's dangerous. It could go wrong. This is not a spell that is designed to be permanent. Caleb is taking a risk — one that is guided by experience, talent, intellect, and advice from more than one outside source, but a risk nonetheless. To alter magic this complex and potent, to improvise, to meddle with bits and pieces of the fabric of reality in such a way, with so little time...

It is something Jester would trust with no one but Caleb. 

_ My brilliant transmuter,  _ she thinks, staring at him.  _ My brave man. _

_ Please don't fuck me up. _

"Let's get on with it, then," urges the Realmseer gruffly, and Expositor Quenna nods, extending her arm in deference towards the circle of bare earth, and Caleb lets go of Jester's hand, and it's happening, it's about to happen, it's real. Nott runs forward and gives Jester a quick hug around the waist, which she's too dazed to reciprocate. She looks around at them all — at Fjord's kind face, knit with worry — at Caduceus, who has a large diamond at the ready, just in case something goes truly wrong — at Yasha, who has moved to stand beside the rest of them, resting one hand on the small of Beau's back — 

Jester feels like she should be making a speech or something, like she should be telling them all how important they are, but she can't. All she can do is stand mutely where she's been left, until Caleb, Frumpkin trailing at his heels, returns to her and takes both of her hands in his own.

"Stand over here," he murmurs, leading her into the center of the makeshift clearing. There are symbols traced into the dirt, she sees — not clumsily, as if by hand, but deeply etched into the ground by a blade or something similar. Thousands of symbols in a perfect circle. Coming to meet at a point in the center are three long, straight, deep channels, each several inches wide, dividing the circle into thirds. 

Jester steps carefully over the lines and runes as Caleb moves her to the middle where the three channels meet. The rest of the spell circle is just empty carvings in the ground, but these channels are filled. One glimmers with liquid silver; the second is lined to the brim with some sort of rich, amber-colored resin; and from the third channel, smoke rises steadily from eerie, gleaming blue cinders.

This spell isn't just immensely powerful, Jester realizes — it's immensely  _ expensive.  _ These components must have cost enough gold and platinum for a hundred resurrection spells.

It's not worth this. She is not worth this.

Then Caleb meets her eyes as she stands there where the channels meet, and his gaze, and the gentleness of his hands, and the sureness in his face, all tell her what she needs before she has to ask.

_ Yes, you are. _

He presses a swift kiss to her temple and murmurs  _ "Ich liebe dich"  _ into her ear before stepping away, before she has a chance to say it back, and now she's alone, the hub at the center of a many-spoked wheel, and she wonders if this is how people feel when they're about to be burned at the stake. Her friends are gathered around her, and she wonders if they're about to be spectators at some horrific performance, some game of blood and fire. That's taking it too far, surely — if this goes wrong, it won't go  _ that  _ wrong. She'll just be left without a tail, or turn green, or something, right? Or the spell will just do nothing, and they'll have to try again another time.

Or, you know, she'll explode.

Caleb walks around the circle, muttering words under his breath, stopping occasionally to trace one of the sigils in the ground with a finger, or to spell something out with his hands in the air. Jester can feel the sun on her hair, the hard earth beneath her feet, the late winter breeze tugging gently at her cloak, and then something...different, something  _ shifting,  _ a tension or a magnetism, and a sudden smell of ozone, or wood smoke, or something chemical. She thinks of Nott's acid flasks, of dragon lightning. She thinks of how it felt when Caleb almost kissed her.

Then everything  _ twists  _ and her skin crawls, the breath is sucked out of her body, and she falls to the ground.

_ end of chapter _


	2. Chapter 2

"Did it work?"

Nott's voice. Jester sucks in a breath. Dizziness rolls over her in waves. The ground beneath her seems to roll and pitch. Her cheek, pressed into the dirt, prickles like it has fallen asleep — her whole body does, like blood returning to a numb limb.

There are hands on her, and someone is helping her to sit up — she rocks upright, or the world does, and suddenly there she is, and the hands on her shoulders keep her from falling over again, and she gasps a few times, but she's fine. She's awake and whole. She's shaking, she's reeling, but she's here.

Realmseer Eskil Ryndarien kneels in front of her, lifts one of Jester's lids to peer closely into her eye, then holds a finger to her throat to feel her pulse. "A blade," he calls, and when someone puts a dagger in his hand he makes a small, quick cut in the flesh of Jester's forearm.

"Fuck!" she shouts, jerking her arm back.

The Realmseer looks pleased. "Blood," he announces. "A good sign."

"Why is  _ blood  _ a good sign?!" demands Jester, clutching at her arm, the dizziness abating slightly thanks to the sudden pain.

"It means you are alive. Which is nothing to take for granted." Eskil Ryndarien taps Jester on the nose. "You could have been turned into stone, or into a solid block of bone and skin, or inside-out. You can never be sure when you're playing with transmutation."

"Yes,  _ danke schön,  _ we understand," comes Caleb's strained voice next to her ear, and Jester realizes that he is the person kneeling behind her, holding her steady by the shoulders. She exhales, and more of the dizziness and nausea seems to drain out of her as she slumps backwards into Caleb's grasp. "Thank you for your assistance."

The older man gives an offended huff as he gets to his feet, surprisingly quickly, unaided as he is. "My assistance was clearly unnecessary."

"It was not," replies Caleb quietly. "I could not have done this without you. Believe me, my gratitude is sincere."

"Mine too," manages Jester, trying not to throw up.

The Realmseer grunts something along the lines of  _ welcome  _ and takes his leave, drawing Expositor Quenna off to the side of things for a private conference. Caleb wraps one arm around Jester's shoulders, holds her tight, his other hand gripping her upper arm, and she feels his breath against her hair, in and out, once, twice, deep and slow and deliberate.

_ Breathe,  _ she tells herself, and she mimics him, and slowly her head clears. The tension leaves her chest, her stomach settles, and she thinks she might be able to stand now if she tried, but that would mean leaving Caleb's embrace. Instead she nestles in a little closer, and his grip only tightens.

"So it worked," says Nott, taking the Realmseer's retreat out of the circle as an invitation to hurry over herself. Then it's like a spell has been broken  _ (ha,  _ thinks Jester), and the rest of the Nein move in as well, because that's right, they aren't alone, there's half a dozen other people watching them, and now they all want to talk at once.

Caleb helps Jester to her feet as Nott peppers him with questions, as Fjord peppers Jester with questions, as Caduceus scans her body with those meticulous healer's eyes of his, as Beau tries to hug everyone at once. Yasha is smiling. For a moment, caught up in it all, Jester forgets the doubts and concerns crowding her mind and just lets her family love her. It's fine. It's all fine. She's back, she's here. Everything is fixed.

She keeps telling herself this, and telling everyone else the same thing through her smiles and hugs and laughter, until Fjord has thanked the Expositor and the Realmseer again and bid them good morning as they go on their way, until Beau has declared that what they all need is to celebrate over a huge breakfast, until some unspoken agreement has left her standing by the edge of the woods alone with Caleb while the rest of their friends walk back into town. This was probably planned, she thinks, watching Beau's distant figure, and Nott's, as they vanish into the city outskirts.  _ Leave these two dumb kids alone to talk about stuff.  _ She can practically hear it in Beau's voice. 

Well, imaginary Beau does have a point. There is a lot to talk about.

Caleb is staring at the dirt, and Jester takes the opportunity to scuff the ground with one foot and remark, "All the spell stuff disappeared."

"Ja, well, it did its job," says Caleb, "it wasn't needed anymore. That was Caduceus's idea, actually, to do it out here. So it could fade away like this."

"Everyone chipped in, huh?"

Caleb gives her a soft smile. "A few people. The Expositor, mostly. People are not generally allowed to just copy spells straight from the Reserve, but she pulled some strings for us."

"Looked like a lot of strings." Jester's heart is in her throat. "Looked like a lot of components, too."

"It was...complicated. I am glad it worked."

"Me too," says Jester.

The smile has faded from Caleb's face, and now they're just standing there, him and her, with nothing but silence between them, and Jester can think of a thousand things she wants to ask, but somehow there's no way to  _ start.  _ How much do they owe these people? What favors did they have to promise? They had to have promised  _ something —  _ for all the Expositor's talk of thanks and debts, the fact remains that they are strangers from another continent who have only been here for a week, and they've already gained access to the restricted archives of the Cobalt Reserve and the service of one of the most powerful mages in the world — they have to have  _ promised  _ something, and they have to have been  _ believed.  _ Beau's status in the Cobalt Soul and whatever gold they happened to have on them at the time cannot have been enough.

It is another entry on Jester's list of  _ Impossible Things the Mighty Nein Have Done,  _ right under rescuing Caleb from the Cerberus Assembly, and she cannot explain that one either. Nott gave her a story about Dairon and some of Beau's former teachers pulling an infiltration and rescue mission together from beneath the streets of Rexxentrum, and Fjord hinted that Den Olios had been involved in some distant way; but that's all she's been able to gather, because she hasn't wanted to push too hard. Because thinking too much about that time is dangerous. Because she sees it in Caleb, in the way he still doesn't eat enough, doesn't sleep enough, doesn't talk enough. Because she sees it in herself, in her dreams, in the way sleeping with all the lights out feels like what she deserves.

She can't ask Caleb about any of these things. So she stands there, useless, and hopes that he'll speak first.

It's a long wait, but eventually he clears his throat and steps a little closer, and there's that darkness in his eyes again as he meets her gaze. "How do you feel?"

_ Literally everything all at once  _ is probably the closest thing to the truth, but she shrugs and settles for the next closest thing. "Pretty much okay, actually. Normal."

Caleb searches her face, lips parted and eyes keen with concentration, though she's not sure what he's looking for.

"Is that good? Did it work? It did work, right?"

"It did work." 

"Because it's been more than an hour now, so if it didn't work the old spell would have faded by now."

"Exactly."

"So I'm me again."

"You're you again," he tells her, and hearing it explicitly, with certainty, with that  _ look  _ in his eyes, is like hearing...like hearing the best things she's ever heard in her life before. The sound of her mother's voice raised in song. The Traveler saying he's proud of her. Nott, telling her she's safe, she's back with them. Beau giggling with her under a blanket, sharing a bed like schoolgirls, joking about boys and girls. Caleb's voice in the darkness, bright as fire.  _ I am in love with you. That was all, really.  _ Caleb's voice, not so long ago, on the deck of a ship.  _ I will never stop loving you. I have never stopped.  _ Caleb's voice, like salt and sea air, making her pulse jump.  _ We'd better get me to a library, then. Because I want to kiss you  _ soon.

Their friends have all left, and it's a beautiful day, and he's still looking at her like that, and Jester thinks,  _ get on with it,  _ and she's not sure if she's thinking it at Caleb or at herself.

She says his name, once, and then he kisses her.

Jester always assumed she would swoon if this ever happened, go weak at the knees and have to clutch the front of his shirt — but instead she finds her whole body shot through with strength, with energy, crackling in her veins. She kisses him back. His lips are soft, his stubble scratching her chin gently, as he presses closer, like he could draw her soul out of her with his mouth, like he’s capturing her. Jester opens her lips to him:  _ yes, please, yes, all yours,  _ and when she feels him tasting her she really does go weak in the knees, which would be less romantic than she’d expected if she didn’t already have her arms around Caleb’s neck, able to steady herself, able to pull herself as close as she can and kiss him again, and again, and again, hit after hit of his sweetness and his trembling breath and his fingers digging almost painfully into her waist where he’s holding her against him —

Caleb pulls away, rough and sudden. Drops his hands from her sides. When Jester moves toward him again he takes two steps back, his jaw clenched tight, breathing rapidly through his nose, like if he dares to open his mouth he’ll be kissing her all over again. 

“Enough,” he murmurs after a few moments of this. “That is enough. It is enough.”

“Enough for what?” asks Jester playfully, and as she does an exultant voice in her head says  _ I’m talking with a mouth that just kissed Caleb.  _

But there is no playfulness in Caleb’s eyes. He takes another step back. 

“Enough for me. It will be — I — ”

His hand is across his eyes suddenly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Blocking Jester out, or holding something else in. 

“Caleb,” she begins, but he holds his other hand up, palm out: don’t. His fingers are shaking. 

“I cannot be with you,” he tells her, with that terrible practiced steadiness that she has come to know so well, the one that hides a dark river of anguish. She can see it in his eyes when he lowers his hands. “We — I — I cannot be with anyone. Not me.”

The dizziness is back. Suddenly she feels like she might actually swoon. Everything in her mouth tastes like poison and she has to take a few deep breaths before she trusts herself to speak. 

“But you love me.”

Caleb just stares at her, his eyes shining. 

“You love me, and I love you.” Jester’s heart is thudding like a stone rolling down the side of a mountain. “I don’t understand.”

He gives her a half-smile, forced and vanished in an instant. “I know. I know,  _ liebling,  _ I am sorry.”

"We just did this whole — we just brought me back."

"And I am so happy that we did, Jester, but that does not change some basic facts — "

“Don’t treat me like a child.” Is this anger swelling in her chest? How can she be angry, right now, at him, on this morning? “We love each other. That should be enough, that should be the only question — ”

“It is  _ not  _ the only question. You know it’s not."

Jester forces herself to take another deep breath, as deep as she can. Her hands are starting to shake. "You saved me. You brought me back. You told me you wanted to kiss me."

"I did, Jester — "

"You  _ told  _ me — "

"I  _ did,  _ I was not lying to you. I told you the truth.”

“So what the fuck?!”

He flinches, like she's just slapped him in the face. "Jester."

"Is that what this has all been about?" Hot tears are flooding her eyes, as they always do when she's furious, and she hates it, and there's nothing she can do. "This whole week, these past few weeks? You've been all weird lately because you knew you were going to turn me down?"

"That is not fair."

"Oh, you're one to talk," she spits.

Caleb swallows. “I have had a lot of time to think — ”

“Oh my god.” 

Jester turns on her heel, cheeks burning, and starts walking back towards town. She's crying and she's livid and she needs to scream, but she's not doing it here, not where —

"Wait. Jester."

She ignores him.

"Jester — " Caleb doesn't grab her arm, doesn't clap a hand on her shoulder, just follows her — she can hear his footfalls behind her, and finally when she can't take it anymore she stops and whirls to face him again.

"I'm waiting," she snaps.

Caleb's face is ashen. "Let me explain," he murmurs, his right hand flexing open and closed, and it's that gesture more than his actual words that hits her hard enough to let him continue without interruption. She remembers a moment in a dark cell, with so much space between them, when he closed his hand on nothing and held on so tight. 

It's not fury boiling over into her tears, she admits to herself then; it's just plain and ordinary grief.

"I wish it were different," Caleb says. There are tears in his eyes too, but he has always been better at keeping those things contained, and his tears don't fall. "I meant every word I said, I have never meant anything more, but I am broken. Beyond repair, this time. And there is no spell to fix me."

"There's  _ me,"  _ Jester says around the pain in her throat from trying not to sob. "We can fix each other, Caleb."

"You are helping, dearest, but there is only so much…" He clenches his jaw tight for a moment, and she sees his hands tremble again. His next words come out hoarse and low. "I am just trying not to die right now."

"Fuck, Caleb," she cries, "at least  _ talk  _ to me."

"I am trying to talk to you."

"Talk to me about what happened." Jester steps forward and takes him by the hands. "You haven't said a word, and I know stuff  _ happened,  _ I know you're in pain, but I can't help you if you don't  _ tell me — " _

"I  _ cannot  _ tell you." Caleb pulls his hands free from her grasp roughly. 

"Like hell you can't," she shoots back, but he cuts her off before she can go on.

"Our conversation onboard the ship, on the way here, was...I should have been more guarded. I am sorry." There is a dull ache audible in his every word. "At the time, things...things seemed possible then that I know now are not — "

"That was one of the happiest moments of my life. Don't you dare apologize for it."

The ghost of a smile flickers in his eyes, extinguished the next moment. "All right. I am not sorry."

"I'm not sorry either." 

This time he doesn't let her take his hands in the first place. Another blow to her heart. She steels herself and speaks as steadily as she can.

“Caleb, we have been through terrible things. And we aren’t telling each other everything, because we don’t want to make it worse for each other, but that isn’t...it’s not helping, really, right? If we don’t talk about it all, how are we going to heal?”

“Talking about it will not make it better."

“This isn’t making it better either! If we have to hurt so much, can’t we at least hurt together?”

The darkness is heavy in Caleb's eyes, and Jester wonders how she could have ever mistaken it for anything good. “No.”

“But it doesn’t — ”

_ “No.  _ I am saying no, Jester." Caleb's voice is flat as he stares at the ground. "I’m sorry. I am not ready, I cannot...I cannot.”

Jester wipes at her face, her nose, her eyes, with a corner of her cloak, feeling stupid and small. “When will you be ready?” she asks desperately.

“I don’t know if I ever will be.”

The honesty costs him, cuts him across the face, she can see it. She supposes she is grateful for that, at least.

“You shouldn’t have kissed me," she murmurs.

“I know. It was selfish. I’m sorry.”

What else can she say? What is she going to say to their friends?  _ How'd it go, Jessie?  _ Great, it went great, Beau, he doesn't want anything to do with me.

"This is just it, then." There's no quaver in her voice now — it left with the rest of her hope. "This is just how we end."

"We are not ending, Jester…"

"I don't know what else you'd call this."

Caleb's eyes flick up to her face, to her lips, then back down to the ground. "This is — we are just — you do not want a man like me, Jester, believe me — "

“Don’t tell me what I want, that’s bullshit!" She's on the verge of shouting again, but he deserves it for a line like that. "That’s deflecting self-pity patronizing bullshit and we don’t  _ talk  _ to each other like that, Caleb! What’s wrong with you?!”

“What is wrong with  _ you?"  _ Caleb bursts out suddenly. "Do you think this is easy for me?"

Jester clamps her mouth shut.

"Do you think I enjoy breaking your heart like this? I am breaking my own heart too." For the first time all morning his voice is raised. "Do you think I am not telling you what happened to me in that cell because I think that — that you won’t be able to handle it? Because I think it will somehow be hard for you? This is not  _ about  _ you!"

"I know," she whispers, shame-stricken.

Caleb steps as close as he can without actually getting up in her face. "I cannot. Be. With anyone. They took that from me. If you are angry with anyone be angry with them because they took that from you too." He speaks quickly, like every word pains him and he is getting it over with as fast as he can. "I am in that cell  _ right now.  _ I will never leave it. I will be there for the rest of my life. You cannot drag me out of it, so please do not fucking try."

"I'm sorry," Jester breathes through her tears. "I'm sorry. I love you. It's okay."

"I'm sorry too," says Caleb shortly.

She moves to throw her arms around him, to tell him she understands, or she's trying to, to say that she will wait as long as she has to, that she will always be here — but he has already walked away. Towards the woods, not back into town. His hands are deep in his pockets, and Frumpkin is nowhere to be seen, so he has sent him away too, and Jester knows that there is no point in following him when he is like this.

So she leaves for the inn. She has her body back. She will focus on that. She is herself again.

She wipes every tear off of her face and waits for her eyes to look normal again before she goes inside, and she tells Beau that nothing happened.

_ end of chapter _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you're aware, readers, this is the chapter where a lot of the tags on this fic come into play, so keep that in mind if reading about that kind of stuff makes you uncomfortable. <3

The sun is going down when Caleb walks into her room.

Jester is sitting on her bed, her journal open on her lap, pencil poised to write, to draw, anything, but she hasn't been able to touch the blank page once. She's too numb by now. She's tried praying out loud, but the Traveler must be busy. Even if he weren't, all her words feel stuck in her throat, or to the roof of her mouth, and she doesn't think she would be able to explain if she tried. 

She would have liked to be able to try, though. She would have at least liked a visit. After crying into her pillow for an hour. It would have been nice to be able to talk to someone. She can't talk to Beau yet, or Nott, for so many reasons. And she certainly can't talk about this to anyone else.

Still, part of her hopes that it's going to be Beau, when she hears the footsteps outside and someone turning the doorknob. At least Beau wouldn't try to coddle her — she'd get angry, she'd swear, she'd threaten all kinds of things if Caleb didn't get his act together. Then it would be Jester's job to calm down Beau, instead of the other way around, and that would feel a lot better than sitting alone in her bed, unable to sketch, unable to write, unable to pray, unable to cry.

But it isn't Beau who barges into her room without knocking. It's Caleb.

Jester claps her journal shut before he can catch a glimpse of her total lack of inspiration. "Caleb," she blurts out, with no idea whether she's about to give him a lecture on privacy or jump up and kiss him; but she doesn't get the chance to do either. With no greeting or preamble, he grabs a chair from the desk in the corner and pulls it up across from her bed, sits down, and starts talking.

"I was there for fifteen days." 

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, not looking at Jester, not looking at anything but his own hands. 

"Eleven days without you. After you...were gone, I was left alone for a day, with all the lights on, so that I could see what had...what had happened to you. They shut my door so that I could not leave, but yours stayed open."

"Caleb," Jester repeats, whispered this time, and she swings her legs over the side of the bed so she can sit facing him, all other thoughts forgotten.

"They gave me water. They did not have to force me to drink it. I wanted to die, but I could not...help myself. I wished that I could, but there are not many things more powerful than thirst." Caleb speaks dispassionately, almost like he's rehearsed this. "So I drank."

Traveler help her, help  _ him —  _ she wants to reach out and touch him, but she knows she can't. She bites her lips hard and tucks her hands under her knees to keep them still.

Caleb draws in a deep breath. "On the next day they cut off my arms and legs."

Jester feels her whole body go cold.

"I thought that they were going to kill me piece by piece," continues Caleb, still in that emotionless voice, like he's just telling a story, "but they cauterized the wounds very cleanly and then they left me on the floor like that for twenty-four hours. Give or take. They had shut the lights off again by then. It was very dark. After twenty-four hours they brought in a healer who cast a regenerative spell to grow my limbs back. And then they cut them off again."

Horror blooms in her chest with every word. She can hardly breathe.

"They did this...four times, I think. I'm not sure. It might have been less. Or more — I don't know. Eventually they moved on to other things. I would rather not go into them all, if it's all right with you, but it was all along the same lines. I recognized some of it, actually. Not the amputations, those were new, but the poisons, the feedings, things like that. Everybody has their signature moves, I suppose."

For the first time he glances up at her, to gauge her reaction, perhaps, and he sees the silent question in her eyes. "Oh, their healer was extraordinary," he murmurs. "Truly gifted. They were very particular about not letting me die."

Jester chokes on a sob, shoves her fist over her mouth to keep it in.

"I did try," Caleb says quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor, "but I could not get the edge of your holy symbol sharp enough. I'm sorry for that. For — for using it like that."

She leans forward and takes his face in her hands, pressing trembling kisses to his lips, his forehead, his cheeks. "I'm so glad you couldn't. I'm so glad."

He lets her touch him like this for a few moments, his eyes fluttering shut with — relief? Guilt? She doesn't care what it is, only that he's letting her — before he reaches up and gently takes her wrists in his hands, lowers them away from his face. She understands. If he's going to talk about this, he needs distance.

So she leans back and gives him distance.

"When the others were able to get me out, I think I had forgotten how to speak. Otherwise I would have told them to leave me there. Of course they would not have listened, and I am — I  _ am  _ grateful, now, that they saved me. Truly, Jester,  _ liebling,  _ I am. But at the time I would have kicked and screamed if I had been able to."

Jester nods. There are some things he doesn't have to explain. She remembers some of those days, alone in the woods, fully aware that a dead body can't starve to death, can't be stabbed to death, bled to death, drowned, poisoned, or hung. She is grateful that she is here, but she will always remember.

"The thing is — " Caleb leans forward now, looks her straight in the eyes. "The thing is, they should not have been able to get me out of there. It was too easy. Far too easy. And Ikithon was not there when they came. He let me go, Jester, I am sure of it."

"That's what I've been afraid of," she tells him. "All this time."

"I don't understand why he would do that, except to fuck with my head." Caleb sits back. He is breathing heavily now. "I have replaced my amulet now, so he cannot find me again by magical means, and I do not know why he would risk losing me like that again."

"It  _ is  _ possible that it wasn't on purpose," says Jester, though she can't conceal the doubt in her voice.

Caleb shakes his head. "I cannot believe that. This was calculated. To make me paranoid, just like this, to question everything. To ruin me for — " He exhales hard. "To make things impossible for me."

"You're not ruined, Caleb." Damn it, damn it, she thought she'd done all of her crying today, but the familiar stinging is back in her eyes, and her face is growing hot. "You're not ruined. I promise."

He meets her eyes once more, and he looks  _ miserable.  _ "I come with nightmares, Jester," he murmurs.

"Me too." It slips from her mouth before she thinks, and for a moment panic spikes in her chest, but they're being honest, aren't they? For god's sake, after everything he's just told her, can't she share this with him?

She rubs her sweaty palms on her dress and swallows back her tears. "I come with nightmares, too. A lot of them. Every night, lately."

Caleb sighs. Not a sigh of resignation, or impatience — he doesn't sound surprised or upset, just...tired.

"I dream about all of it, about — all of it," Jester says lamely. "It's like it's all happening again, like I'm right there, and sometimes I feel like I'll never be fully...here, again. Even when I'm awake. Or if I am here, I don't deserve to be."

"It's a shitty feeling, isn't it?" asks Caleb with a quirk of his mouth that's not  _ quite  _ a smile.

"Yeah, it is." Jester gives a shaky laugh. "It really is. And you know, sometimes I know it's not true, but not all the time."

"It is never true," Caleb says softly.

Jester reaches out and pokes him in the chest. "You said it, you can't take it back. It's not true for you either."

Now he does smile. "Well,  _ scheisse." _

"Yeah. I got you."

"You got me," he echoes, and he brushes a stray tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb, stuttering it over her skin, like he's not sure if he's still allowed to touch her.

"Caleb." Jester takes a deep breath. "You need to know…" She pauses as more tears threaten to overcome her for a moment, but holds her ground. "There is nothing that I would not do, to be able to...to walk you through your nightmares, out to the other side. Wherever that is."

He opens his mouth to reply, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor between their feet, but —

"Not finished," she hastens before he can speak. This is  _ important,  _ she has to get it out. "There is  _ nothing  _ I would not do. And I will do it as your friend, Caleb. If that's all you can give, then I will do it as your  _ friend,  _ and it will be enough, okay?"

Caleb lifts his head. "It’s not enough,” he says, fire behind his eyes. “It is  _ not  _ enough.”

“Caleb, I promise — ”

“It is  _ not enough,”  _ he repeats, and then he is on his knees before her, dragging her face down to kiss him, pulling whatever breath was left in her from her lungs as his hands stray to the small of her back, to her throat, to pushing her knees apart so he can move closer, so that he can kiss her harder. 

“Never,” he gasps as they break for breath. “Never enough,” he hisses against her skin seconds later, as Jester is  _ reeling,  _ lightheaded and stunned. “Never,” he repeats into her collarbone as she clutches him for balance, her fingers trembling in his hair, her tears staining the shoulders of his coat as she holds him, as he holds her.

"I'm so glad you came back," Jester chokes out a whisper into his neck, and she doesn't know if she means  _ back from that cell  _ or  _ back to my room,  _ but it doesn't matter. 

Caleb pulls away just enough to take her hands and kiss her palms, then the backs of her knuckles. "I am sorry it took me so long," he murmurs.

"Hey. You have nothing to be sorry for." Jester takes his face in her hands. "Nothing."

"I have a little bit to be sorry for, dearest."

"Already forgiven." She kisses the top of his head. "See?"

"Easy as that?"

"Easy as that," she smiles, and when he lunges up to kiss her again she wraps her arms around him and lets herself fall back, pulling him into the bed with her. Not to take his clothes off, not to do more than kiss, for now. Neither one of them is ready for that, Jester knows without having to ask. Their bodies are still not fully  _ theirs  _ yet, not after everything, and it is getting dark outside, and tonight they will have nightmares.

But they will have them together.

_ fin _


End file.
